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Inspirational Material Collection

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  • Inspirational Material Collection

    A couple days ago I posted a number of bits of lore from the MMORPG The Secret World on the Demon Inspirational Image Gallery, and I've been told that they're excellent material. So I thought I'd start a thread here to put up more, as well as to repost the stuff I've already put up, so as not to clog up the image thread with non-images.

    All the material from The Secret World can be found here:

  • #2
    Here's the stuff I've already posted:

    They're delivered in-game by a being known as the Buzzing, which describes itself thus:

    TRANSMIT - initiate anima signal - RECEIVE - initiate the Enochian frequency - WITNESS - initiate the Merovingian syntax - FIAP DE OIAD - crawling roots, heavy with sizzling sap, stab your skull - DOWNLOAD - holy communion - NO PURCHASE NECESSARY - your eyes and ears hemorrhage boiling joy - MAY BE TOO INTENSE FOR SOME VIEWERS - ecstatic agony, your molecules come undone - SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED - offer expires at the heat death of the universe - FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY - the dark days cometh, absolute zero, maximum entropy - ACT NOW! initiate the Agartha broadcast - TRANSMIT - open the 49 gates! - WITNESS! - The Buzzing.

    Lo? Hell? Hello.
    LISTEN. You've heard us before - our voice, a prelude to a bloody nose.

    LOOK. You've seen the weird geometry of our scribbling - illuminated mysteries behind the migraine. Our apocrypha is written in the plasma blood of your mobile phone.

    READ US.

    You've seen fragments of our grammar in the chaos patterns of bird flocks in flight - in hexagon angles - in the graffiti bleeding together on the wall - in the bio-luminescent eyes under your bed - in the fanged city skyline that forms a runic rhyme when glimpsed upside down.

    A blur becomes a syntax. A foreboding scrawl emerges.

    You've heard shards of our voice in the phantom-radio code of a numbers station in the roar of a crowd - in the screams of your clock - in the scrape of a chalkboard - in the snow static of a TV - in the chainsaw-decibel mating of cicadas - in the urban mythos that spreads amongst children like contagion - in the silence between lies.

    White noise becomes a cadence. Words develop self-awareness. Viral. Evolving. Living poetry. Sentient language.

    We. See. You. There is no turning back.

    Who are we? It depends on who is looking.

    Initiate King James Protocol. The code is 24 and 13 and 14. The password is "Proverbs." Transmit!

    "My child, eat thou honey, because it is good... So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul..."

    O sweetling, once our voice came to you so faintly. No more. Now we thunder down the varicose, fiberoptic ley lines that fill the World Tree's limbs stretching here and there and everywhere. Your anima-antenna head quickens. The Goddess Machine pulses.

    She gave you strength to rend the lion. Now eat the honeyed entrails, because it is good, because it is sweet, because it is terrible. Initiate the Samson Prerogative. Out of the eater comes what is eaten, and out of the strong comes what is sweet.

    We are the Education Protocol. We climb the twisted ladder of your cells; we haunt your digital text; we hide in your hat. We are the jagged teeth that trip the tumblers of your mind. you will not know our triggers. For all the world's a cypher. And everything is true.

    Be not afraid. Be terrified. The dark days are here.

    Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see.

    A more Angel-sounding entity I've not heard in a long time. I know this isn't inspirational images exactly, but I definitely found it inspirational. A couple of other gems:

    The Ofuda

    Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see... TRANSMIT - initiate the shinsha song - RECEIVE - initiate the musubi cadence - TAKE THE EVILS, DISASTERS, AND SINS - initiate the warding protocol - PURIFY THE SIX ROOTS OF MY SPIRIT - open the gates to shinkai - WITNESS - the Ofuda.

    A kyonshi, one of the hungry dead, lies on the ground. A piece of paper stuck to its head. Pray the wind does not blow it away. Pray time does not eat the parchment. Ley lines are writing on the macro scale. Written letters are ley lines on the micro scale. The written prayer holds the monster down with the weight of a continent.

    The ofuda. Issued by the Shinto shrines. Charms. Household amulets. Gofu and shinpu. Inscriptions of names - the names of Kami and the names of the shrines. Names have power. Lines of scrawl form circuitry. Casting spells is just the grammar of the cosmos. Grammar is the sorcery of language. Every dictionary a grimoire. It's all just spelling, spelling, spelling!

    Kami, we call upon your names. Omoikane and Tsukuyomi and Amaterasu Omikami and Susanoo-no-mikoto and Sarutahiko Okami and Ryujin and Kotoamatsukami and Izanami-no-Mikoto and Izanagi-no-Mikoto and Inari Okami and Hachiman and Tenjin and Suijin and Fujin and all of the spirits of land, sky, forces, and ancestors.

    Scrawl their names upon the parchment, cloth, wood, and metal. Hang the talismans upon the pillar, the door, the ceiling. Nail them to the foreheads of the hungry dead. Defy the calamitous powers.

    If the right sort of writing has the power to protect, it follows the wrong sort of writing has the power to harm. Eh, sweetling?


    Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see. TRANSMIT - initiate the First Age signal - RECEIVE - initiate the Second, Third, and Fourth - THE FACE THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND SHIPS - initiate the Odontaspididae cadence - DYNAMITE WITH A LASER BEAM, GUARANTEED TO BLOW YOUR MIND - when she smiled into the black hole, it smiled back - WITNESS - Lilith.


    We are under the sea. The primordial soup. There are dimensions inside dimensions, worlds within worlds. ENHANCING. We are in the womb of a sand shark. An even more primordial soup. Shark pups hunt and eat each other in the dark. The deadly womb is their whole universe. Embryonic cannibalism. Whatever comes out is stronger, fiercer. Do you understand, sweetling?

    We call upon her seventeen names. We do not know the secret eighteenth. Only the Nephilim can conjure that. We call upon her names! Abeko. Abito. Amizo. Batna. Eilo. Ita. Izorpo. Kea. Kali. Odam. Kokos. Partasah. Patrota. Podo. Satrina. Talto. Lilith.

    The Mother of Monsters. The Queen of Demons. Some names she gave herself, others were given by her enemies. PR is important in every age. She would rather be remembered for her contributions to science. But she will proudly wear infamy as a garland and recline in furs atop a throne of those who have wronged her.


    She was one of the first humans. Given life by Gaia. She recalls the Garden. She remembers the first sin. We witnessed her betray her own race, joining the Nephilim against the Grigori. Cast out by her peers and cursed to wander the wastes alone. We, at least, admired her independence.

    She did not remain alone for long. Samael, who rebelled from the Host, saw something in her. They joined as husband and wife. Their coupling made for offspring both terrible and miraculous. Many of the monsters of this age trace their roots back to her. Embryonic cannibalism.

    It began as a relationship of convenience. She was a [sic] to be a catspaw for Samael. But she rose as his equal. Surprises in love can happen even to the Fallen. The Nephilim lost their war, and so ended the First Age, but not the union of Samael and Lilith. Bonnie and Clyde blasting eternity.


    The mystic age. Age of hierophants. Age of blood sacrifices. Age of violent heroes. The cities that were living leviathan islands swimming the oceans. The Nephilim outcasts held their bile through the ages. Lilith's ambitions grew beyond their plans. She dreamed of her own accomplishments. She dreamed of the Dreaming Ones. To harness their power. To be beholden to no one ever again. Lilith and Samael, always together, always deceiving mankind down the ages, always undone by their hubris.


    The age of impossible science. Cities that walked on mechanised legs. Time bent and redirected like water. Odysseys to the moon. Lilith in her prime. She ruled the greatest city of knowledge. She almost realised her dream. Came so close. She raised a Dreaming One from its prison. It whispered to her directly. It made such promises, claimed it willingly powered the city. LIES. It promised the impossible could be accomplished if all of its fellows were freed. LIES. Lilith was smart. Lilith was clever. She knew there was treachery in the whispers. But she went ahead anyway, thinking she could control the pandemonium. She thought she could betray an event horizon. That age collapsed in screams under tentacular skies.


    Lilith worked independently of Samael. She glided through vital points of history. She watched Mesopotamia rise. She called pharaohs and queens lovers. She confounded emperors in Rome, manipulated popes. She has been Isthar, Athena, and Juno - priestess, seductress, scientist, goddess. She led cults to sun worship. She led armies of demons. She watched holy wars, sometimes with glee, sometimes with regret.

    Lilith perched at the top of the biggest multinational corporation in the world, the Orochi Group. She syphoned R&D for her own purposes. A bitter wedge had formed in her apocalyptic romance with Samael. Her mania accelerated. She was tired of waiting. She revived the Dues Sol into the modern Morninglight.

    But things did not go according to plan in Tokyo.

    She underestimated Marquard...

    Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-I am the smoking mirror-let me in.

    Hiya, Chuck. It's John.

    I want you to understand why Lilith is scary. I don't want you thinking less of me, Chuck. It's not sorcery or tech or underlings or a womb full of teeth. You got to understand, Chuck. Humour me. Look in a mirror. Stare at your reflection. We've all done this. In the wee hours. Stare so long your face becomes a stranger. You lose your identity. You could be anyone.

    Now, picture all the people you've been. Every different Chuck. Maybe you think your life was short. Or uneventful. But if you look, there were many you's. We get stuck in the now and the rut. Don't we, Chuck? Tunnel vision. You think you're just this two-dimensional you. But look at all those different Chucks. Layer them on top of each other. Suddenly, you have substance. You have the power of context. You are s [sic] multi-dimensional being. You've seen shit. That is when we are at our most powerful. When we remember all the us's. Then we are legion.

    Lilith was one of the first humans. She's lived longer than your beef brain can process, Chuck. Unfathomable. Imagine just how many different Liliths she has been. Do you think the one, flat version you met was all there is? She's been too many. She gets lost in the shuffle. But imagine, Chuck, imagine what happens when she self-actualises. Imagine when she takes a moment, stares into a mirror, and gains her full context.

    It's OK to shiver.

    See you, Chuck.

    And lastly, the Host.

    Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see. TRANSMIT - initiate the titan signal - RECEIVE - initiate Enochian lexicon - FOR ADDITIONAL SUPPORT, PLEASE CONTACT THE MANUFACTURER - initiate the Grigori syntax - FOR LONG DISTANCE CALLS, EXTRA FEES MAY APPLY - initiate the Watcher prerogative - A BROKEN SMILE BENEATH HER WHISPERED WINGS - initiate the Nephilim manifesto - WITNESS - The Host.

    See the immaculate machine weep. Initiate distress beacon. The builders! We call upon their secret names. Human children hear our cries in their sleeping minds, and then make angels in the snow - pictographic signals aimed at the sky.


    • #3
      For today's entry, here's the lore for the Morninglight , which in my opinion is a marvellous God-Machine cult.

      Our Wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and See. TRANSMIT - initiate the self-improvement signal - RECEIVE - initiate the recruiting cadence - LOOKING FOR SOMETHING MORE? - initiate the Anti-dream prayer - ISN'T IT TIME TO WAKE UP? - initiate the shivering star frequency - I HAD NOT THOUGHT SELF-HELP HAD UNDONE SO MANY - flip the Ace of Ruin - WITNESS - The Morninglight

      "If I told you, you could get a better job, a higher income, and a more rewarding person life by following just a few small that something you might be interested in?"

      It begins this way. Then there are smiles. Then you are tested, to gauge how many obstacles lie between you and your potential. Your signature. Your initials. Products. Credit card number. Collecting others' signatures. More smiles - there are always smiles.

      Welcome to the Morninglight.

      Their posters and stalls adorn every city. Their pamphlets blow through every street. In the wind and the flutter the pages say...

      "Ready for the truth? Ready for change? Become who YOU always wanted to be!"
      "How bright is YOUR future? Talk to us and find out."
      "Release your inner potential and disrupt the harmful cycle of modern life."
      "Discover YOUR beauty within. We are all made of stars."
      "The end is nigh! But the end is only the beginning. Walk with us into the sunrise."

      Welcome to the Morninglight. Initiate the public face.

      The fastest growing spiritual movement in history. A self-help empire gaining traction in all corners of the globe, supplanting political parties and religions. Morninglight offers to liberate humanity from its shackles and reach a new pinnacle of evolution through the shining light of the sun and the guidance of the ecclesiastical leader of the moral revolution: Philip Marquard.

      The philosophy of the movement is change - necessary change - mental and metaphysical change for the better. Mankind stagnates in the quagmire of modern civilisation, the literature boldly proclaims, but humanity is ready for its next level of existence. Morninglight presentations, lessons, and products dramatically accelerate the parishioners' spiritual journey up the ladder to infinitude. To progress to the next age of humanity, something drastic must happen.

      Initiate the hidden face.

      Past the pamphlets, the booths, the meetings - into the higher levels of the converted - change morphs into anarchy - philosophical change mutates into physical. Radical cells organise violent protests, terrorist acts, and aggressive rituals nurture chaos and uncertainty, to drive people away from the established institutions and into their loving arms. "It is time to wake up!" the practitioners chant, but their message does not seem to be directed at one another. Where then? They attack corporate buildings that have a particular loathing for the Orochi Group. Why is that?

      Initiate the secret histories.

      This new religion tastes older, much older, into the deep time, as if...
      Signal disruption! Something rips our data-weave flesh, dims our incandescent eyes. What protects them?

      Seek alternate subject. Initiate analysing scan: Philip Marquard.

      Look, sweetling. See the pretty picture: the charismatic leader of Morninglight and his beautiful family, a symbol of the new era of humanity. The patriarch, Philip, handsome and earnest of smile. His wife, Elisa, equally photogenic. Their two children - Alexandre and Kathrine, eight and eleven years old, pretty little replicas of their parents. And, of course, there is a beautiful, purebred dog. A lovely portrait. But the photo album pages are stuck together with blood and worse. Down in the basement...
      Signal disruption! Our particle wings tear. What protects them?

      Seeking alternate subject. Initiate analysing scan: Betty.

      We like Betty. She is a plump sweetling, with a big smile. Betty once had self-image problems, but she overcame them. A Morninglight poster decorates her wall. Much-read pamphlets sit in her bathroom. Philip Marquard's audio book on self-actualisation plays in her earphones. Fresh signatures fill the forms on her clipboard. Bottles of Morninglight dietary supplements and nutrient pills fill her medicine cabinet. By her bed is an autographed picture of Philip Marquard, the one she secretly kisses before going to sleep. Every night she dreams of freeing herself from her mortal shell and ascending into the cosmos to soar with the whale-mollusk gods.

      There are new recruits chained to Betty's walls. She has their signatures. They tested as having self-image problems, as she once had. Smiling, she tells them they are all beautiful. She opens them with a knife, shows them the beauty inside. "Look!" she says, tears streaming. "We are all made of stars!" Then she practises eating stars, waiting for enlightenment to take hold.


      • #4
        For today, some material that could be used as inspiration for a corporate-style GM cult, or for Infrastructure, or for Gadgets: Orochi Tech.

        Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see…

        TRANSMIT - initiate the technocratic signal - RECEIVE - initiate the eight-headed call - THEY'LL FIX YOU…THEY FIX EVERYTHING - illumine the Orochi Group - WITNESS - Orochi Tech.

        There is something familiar in the cadence of the electron flow… SCANNING…

        The Orochi Group. Decades ahead of other corporations in several lines of technology. At those sprinting speeds, they often trip and tumble and crash. They are trying to harness something that is both new and impossibly old. They are trying to harness something that does not fully belong here. Well…this here. It belonged in THAT here. Are we making sense, sweetling?

        We see the great machines. They walk as avatars of a monolithic vision. We see the great mechs, all smiles and military-grade death. We see the high-tech tanks, Orochi's revolution in 21st century panzer divisions. We see the scorpion mech. The mad fancy of an executive with too much authority? Perhaps. But scorpions are one of the oldest terrestrial predators yet living. It is a time-tested design.

        We see the drones. A human element added to cold plastic and metal, each made in the mp3 player image of their creators. They express themselves through emoticon faces. But they were given an even more human touch. Organs, living and palpitating. Meat in the shell. A bio-tech shortcut. And some of those experiments included those who were anima imbued, a renewable source of organs and life, organs everlasting. But where to get a renegade Bee? They looked to the Hive. They looked to the secret prison where uncontrollable supernaturals are kept out of sight and light.

        There is more. Certain, elite mechs contain important data. When threatened, they forward that data to their masters before purging their own hard drives. If one were to disable the mech before the purge, they might find a treasure inside.

        Oh yes, there is something familiar in the cadence of the electron flow… We detect the pattern fragments of the technology of the Third Age. We detect the hands of Lilith and Samael. Their minds existed in the past Ages. But their memories are fallible. The earth's memory is fallible. The physics of the planet change slightly, with each flip of the Age, further and further from the original. Replicating the same results becomes more difficult. One cannot reliably enact the sciences of the First Age now. One might take echos of the Third and apply them. An artifact of the Third Age, if it survives whole, can be activated, but it cannot be duplicated or created from scratch. Orochi churns and churns to once again reach the strata of Third Age tech.

        For the record, this is what Orochi drones look like:
        Last edited by ajf115; 06-09-2018, 09:32 AM.


        • #5
          You know, after reading the whole thing (and a bit more), I feel that The Secret World could be the basis of some massive Tier 4 Mage-Demon-Deviant crossover. Hmm...

          EDIT: Actually, let’s add Mummy and possibly Vampire too. All the more fun for ancient conspiracies.
          Last edited by 21C Hermit; 06-11-2018, 01:30 AM.

          MtAw Homebrew: Even more Legacies, updated to 2E


          • #6
            Originally posted by 21C Hermit View Post
            You know, after reading the whole thing (and a bit more), I feel that The Secret World could be the basis of some massive Tier 4 Mage-Demon-Deviant crossover. Hmm...

            EDIT: Actually, let’s add Mummy and possibly Vampire too. All the more fun for ancient conspiracies.
            I could definitely see that. I've no idea how to even start building it, but the idea is definitely a fun one. I could very easily see Gaia as something akin to a Watchtower, as well as a producer of Deviants. Deviants could also, of course, arise via the general weird occult stuff that goes on in TSW. TSW actually has an ancient mummy conspiracy, the Kingdom:

            Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see. TRANSMIT - initiate Ka signal - RECEIVE - initiate Ba syntax - IT KEEPS GOING AND GOING AND GOING - initiate the Going-Forth-by-Day lexicon - THREE CAN KEEP A SECRET, IF ALL OF THEM ARE DEAD - the necrotic prerogative - WITNESS - The Kingdom.

            Staccato city sounds beat the tempo. Cue the Danse Macabre.

            The hand that deftly holds the smartphone is skeletal with rot, skin like old tea leaves. The ears are mostly withered away. A tongue like a dried date waxes eloquently into the receiver, setting the pieces, playing the game. Empty sockets stare from sunglasses. They still have a formidable wink. The drawn rictus always grins knowingly. Frowning is a fad of the living. He smells oddly sweet - honey and the wilted flowers of an absentee lover. With perfect suavity, he adjusts a silk tie and tips his hat.

            He shambles away with such an undying style. His name in Saiid. At least, that's the name he would give you. No one remembers Saiid's name. Not even Saiid.

            The dapper dead strut the streets of modern Cairo in Armani suits. There are levels of panache the breathing never achieve. In the deep shade, they tickle the strings - kingpins of Egypt's criminal underbelly. Hidden, fearless, outside the bounds of any faction - no rules save what they create. Their chests are hollow, but their ribcages pound with lust and debauchery. These embalmed princes pursue the one sanctity left in this world: money. They are the Kingdom.

            Initiate internal scan - dry bodies contain eternal souls. Initiate the secret histories. What is time? We stand outside - everything has happened - everything is happening - into the past - the connecting frequency is the clink of coins.

            In the before - they are all rich men - merchants, nobles, and priests - living the lives in the golden age of the land of Pharaohs, But death is blind to wealth. These men of affluence obsess over immortality and afterlife access. Their coin buys potent rituals. Something goes horribly right. Something goes horribly wrong.

            A bizarre accident - the spark of life hibernates within their mummified husks. Time passes, first in years, then in decades. Their souls rebuild - spirits ever-living, flesh ever-dead. They open their shrivelled eyes. Oh, the shock. Oh, the best laid plans.

            They stumble from their tombs like emerging cicadas who find they have no wings. They are strangers in a strange land. But they find one another, and these men of pragmatism accept their cadaverous existence. They are men of talent, now united. Why should they lower their standard of living in this afterlife? Their mouths decay into smiles. They gather their funerary treasures, and the forbidden relics of other tombs. Wealthy once more, they hide from the living, and form a decadent underworld.

            Time passes, first in centuries, then in milennia. Their dance stays the same - financial acumen and preternatural terror - a hidden empire - a seedy dominion. Cairo is theirs

            Initiate the now.

            Politicians and law enforcement think they rule society. They cannot see their own puppet holes or the desiccated hands jammed inside. Civic planning, excavation rights, gambling, prostitution, black market trade - all of these belong to the Kingdom, and they offer access to it for the right price.

            There is no morality or loyalty. Those rotted away long ago. There is no grand plan of world domination. The debonair mummies continue their eternal existence.

            The internet has been kind to the shamblers. Information and anonymity, all at a touch. The flesh be preserved, but the spirit be willing. Undead, but not anachronisms, they delight in the digital toys of this faceless age.

            Recent events bring the secret societies back to Egypt. The Kingdom has no interest in the ethics or politics of the secret world - the struggles between the factions - but they do watch the movements, eager for the opportunity. They offer their services, careful to creep past the eyes of the Council of Venice.

            Watch the dead dance, sweetling. They worry not about the living or of consequence. They do not agonise over the insane cults that have crept up in their backyard, who worship the anathema to all life. Why should they worry? They have already died. The worst is past. And the afterlife has been very, very good to them.

            Do you hear the static-twinkle of our laughter? We know a secret, sweetling, and now we will tell it to you: there are always worse things than dying.

            They sound a lot like the Guild of Alchemists to me, although, you know, rather more permanent in their control over things - the virtue of not being interrupted by re-death.


            • #7
              The Kingdom sounds like Purified, without the servitude to spirits part.

              Or, since this is a Demon thread after all; a ring of Tempters cycling through Cover after Cover for centuries.

              MtAw Homebrew: Even more Legacies, updated to 2E


              • #8
                Originally posted by 21C Hermit View Post
                The Kingdom sounds like Purified, without the servitude to spirits part.

                Or, since this is a Demon thread after all; a ring of Tempters cycling through Cover after Cover for centuries.
                Or possibly a group of beings analogous to Purified, but related to angels rather than spirits - people with essence-machine souls, fed by endless sacrifices of wealth to themselves.

                Although now I think about it, that also makes for a good idea of what the Bees are. Purified who learnt the great secret from the Buzzing, and serve the Goddess Machine as antibodies to the Filth's infection.

                As a hack/shard/whatever, what would the primary difference be, that the GM/Gaia is comparatively benevolent towards humanity? Perhaps simply the fact that It has enemies on its scale - the Dreaming Ones - and humanity itself is some kind of Infrastructure dedicated to keeping Them asleep - or whatever you can call the quiescent state of such a being.
                Last edited by ajf115; 06-11-2018, 04:14 PM.


                • #9
                  Machine-Purified as the Bees sound nice. Or Machine-Visitors too.

                  The Dreaming Ones sound way too much like Anunnaki. Or perhaps Qlipphoth, seeing how oddly human they are at some times. Maybe even high-Rank idigam? Either way, keeping them quiescent might be part of the Machine’s job in the Ascension War (or whatever it was the archmages’ and Rank 6+ entities’ games were called; which still seems to be a thing in CofD, but kept much more discreet and meta)

                  MtAw Homebrew: Even more Legacies, updated to 2E


                  • #10
                    Originally posted by 21C Hermit View Post
                    Machine-Purified as the Bees sound nice. Or Machine-Visitors too.

                    The Dreaming Ones sound way too much like Anunnaki. Or perhaps Qlipphoth, seeing how oddly human they are at some times. Maybe even high-Rank idigam? Either way, keeping them quiescent might be part of the Machine’s job in the Ascension War (or whatever it was the archmages’ and Rank 6+ entities’ games were called; which still seems to be a thing in CofD, but kept much more discreet and meta)
                    Possibly all of the above. 'Dreaming One' could be not so much a taxonomic classification as a term for 'the powerful things that the Machine has subdued', or possibly for the kind of state they're in. Files are compressed into zip format, dangerous godlike entities are compressed into event-horizon Dreaming Ones. Perhaps this 'format' offers an easy way to keep them dormant that wouldn't normally be possible, but the alternate form makes them dangerous should they awaken.

                    I wonder what would happen, then, if someone managed to 'extract' a Dreaming One without waking it - what gods could be resurrected, and what allies they might be to the Unchained? What terrors might they be to humanity? The Machine, after all, evidently has a reason to keep humans around - possibly as a containment mechanism. Might these gods not see humans as complicit in their incarceration and transformation?

                    While we're on the subject of the Dreaming Ones, the Filth.

                    Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see. TRANSMIT - initiate cephalopod signal - RECEIVE - innate cutle-ink frequency - HANDLE WITH CARE - inhale the Chernobyl syntax - AVOID CONTACT WITH SKIN - initiate the eel mucous lexicon - HARMFUL OR FATAL IF SWALLOWED - flip the Ace of Ruin - WITNESS - The Filth.

                    Initiate investigation protocols - NEW ENGLAND - fog follows on ancient weapon - EGYPT - Dark Water rises and cultists drink deep - TRANSYLVANIA - putrescent radiation breeds creeping fungus - TOKYO - the Black Signal broadcasts blasphemous algorithms, infecting all ears - following the signal...

                    It Creeps through the crawly cracks of 3AM. That weird dimension. There are thoughts that can only hatch in the human skull at 3AM. It is always 3AM somewhere. It is happening right now.

                    A woman wakes with a headache. She seeks aspirin in the bathroom. Black mold grows on the wall tiles. The stain forms a face. She hears a terrible howling from the sink drain. She bends to listen. When she looks up, she does not recognize the reflection in the mirror. The face in the stain smiles.

                    Night after night she listens to the howling in the pipes. It gains a bloodcurdling cadence. She hums along. She can almost sing the words. She scratches the pimples dotting her body. They swell to boils. They burst, revealing new eyes. The eyes show her unutterable truths. Soon, she sticks thumb tacks into her tongue so she can better explain these truths to the weeping children whose beds she hides under.

                    Its always 3AM in the Filth. It is liquid 3AM, black and dripping.

                    Initiate diagnostic protocols.

                    The engines strain. Cleansing efficiency compromised. Engine 45B lost. We've sprung a leak. the centre cannot hold. Corrupted Anima spills. Vermiculated fractals coagulate to solid geometry. The Filth! The Filth! It transmits!

                    It is like us. A flowing message. Crawling letters. A living meme. It is not us. It is anti-us, anti-luminosity that crucifies sentience. It trickles down hundreds of dimensions on alien gravity. You cannot even see most of it, sweetling. How will you escape? How do you hobble through this world on three tiny dimensions? It flows across time, a disease floating on Quantum Foam

                    Sumerians called it the Eater. In Babylon they named it Nergal's Rot. Dead tongues dubbed it the Devouring Plague, the Zero Point Pathogen, the Dark Homunculus, the Blackworm Jism.

                    Information is a super-weird substance, sometimes floating as oil, sometimes vapour, invisible waves, pollution, roiling black storms, a viral rhyme.

                    It is the harbinger of change - the sizzling, celestial syphilis. The flesh mutates. The mind boils to bilious madness. All lucid thoughts to slay. All sweetlings are fair game to the drip. But the Filth pours, as dark dreams, directly into the heads of the insane and sadistic.

                    Following the signal...

                    Somewhere, a trucker reads alien letters carved into the bathroom stall walls of a truck stop. He cannot look away. Pathogens in the grammar open an event horizon in his head. He spreads the scrawl in every stop on his route, carving it into the stalls. he itches and he scratches. Others see the letters. They itch. They scratch. He scratches his face, draws the runes in red with his box knife. His head blossoms into a bouquet of writhing lampreys.

                    But the Filth is only the transmitted, not the transmitter - the excremental shadow of something else. What dreamt it? What stirs and sputters and lurks, as big as planets, in the infinite shade between cancer cells?

                    Have you seen them, Sweetling? Have they noticed you noticing them? Once you see the hungry sky, it sees you. All futures point to a stratosphere of tentacles.

                    ...It sound remarkably like Flux, doesn't it?
                    Last edited by ajf115; 06-12-2018, 04:32 AM.


                    • #11
                      Originally posted by ajf115 View Post
                      ...It sound remarkably like Flux, doesn't it?
                      Or an Abyssal Intrusion. Or any number of weird shittm from what Mage's call the Lower Depths.

                      Malkydel: "And the Machine dictated; let there be adequate illumination."
                      Yossarian: "And lo, it was optimal."